


bright screens, awful dreams

by orphan_account



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Curses, In case you were worried, M/M, no bestiality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-20 23:45:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14272158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Hanzo finds a dog while on a run. It only escalates from there.





	1. Chapter 1

Hanzo has always abhorred violence, in a way. He figures - what’s the point in being intelligent if you have to draw a gun? He works things through with words as often as he can, preferring it over the unpredictability of weaponry.

Though that was not to say he had never been a violent man - Sojiro had insisted he take hand to hand and firearms training despite his aversion to it. He knew how to beat someone into a pulp in less than two minutes, could push a man’s nose bone up to say hello to his brain and shoot a finger off from six meters away. He would admit he’d always liked the bow for the few bloodier missions he could not weasel his way out of, its elegance and surety, but it still left him the black sheep in the clan. Which was.. ironic, considering Genji, but he supposed they’d both been doomed from the start.

(In a way the elders ordering him to murder Genji was a blessing, a _benediction_. He finally had a reason to take his brother and hightail it out of Hanamura, had an excuse to say _no_. He’d take being a coward over the absence of bright green hair any day.)

Despite all this - despite his firm belief that violence was the easy way out, he desperately wants to drive his fist into this client’s face so hard something’d _crunch_. It takes all his willpower to remain seated, and he digs his fingers into the muscle of his thigh to distract himself.

“I don’t see why I don’t get a refund, if it was _broken_ when I _rented it_ -” Hanzo cuts him off, nostrils flaring.

“I apologize, sir, but we check our equipment extensively every time it is returned. It is unlikely that something as significant as a cracked lense escaped our notice. I would be happy to turn you over to my associate,” Hanzo glances over the man’s shoulder to Amélie across the room doing inventory, who smirks at him. He shoots her as much of a glare as he can manage and turns his attention back to the man before him.

“So she may explain as well, but other than that I cannot offer you a refund.” The man huffs and stands, glares at Hanzo for another moment before turning on his heel and marching over to Amélie. She gives him a betrayed look and he mimics her earlier smirk. 

* * *

In lieu of giving in to the urge to go to the gym and punch something until his knuckles bleed, Hanzo goes on a run instead. It’s a much more healthy way to cope with the annoying clients he gets on bad days at the shop - which, blessedly, isn’t all that often - and distracts him from the hundreds of generations of bloodlust he feels pulsing overdramatically through his veins.

When he’d originally moved to America with Genji he’d lamented the loss of the mountains dearly. They’d only been able to afford a small apartment in Boston on their combined squirreled-away budgets for that exact purpose, and found himself more disappointed by the lack of pointy behemoths rising up on the horizon than he’d expected. When Genji suggested they moved to the opposite coast Hanzo had been secretly delighted at the prospect of being near mountains again.

He’d been lucky enough to find an apartment both near the mountains and not too far from downtown, where he works in the equipment rental store with Amélie. He takes advantage of them, runs up the trails and then walks back down, loves the way the air clears his head like nothing else, the absence of sound save what comes from the environment. It’s _intoxicating_ , his freedom spelled out in its purest form, and Hanzo revels in it.

It’s nearing seven when he makes it back down the mountain, sun beginning to dip low over the horizon. He takes a different path from the one he took up due to the mouth of it having a closer proximity to the road that leads back to his apartment.

It’s getting dark, but there’s still enough light that he can see the ball of fur resting just to the right of the road. He slows his steady pace enough to inspect it as he walks by, making sure to keep a safe distance. He sees it heave a breath and stops completely, sniffs the air. It doesn’t _smell_ dead, or even close to it, and Hanzo takes a tentative step forward.

The creature, sensing his presence, lifts his head and peeks up at him. It’s a dog - scruffy and much too skinny, but a dog nonetheless. It looks like a cross between a coyote and a golden retriever, ears sharp and tall but fur what would be a soft amber color if not marred by dirt and rust colored smears that Hanzo assumes is blood.

The dog uncurls itself from its position, eyeing Hanzo up. He can hear an almost subvocal growl that emanates from its chest, but it seems to subside after another moment without Hanzo making a move. After a few moments of indecision he approaches it warily, hand outstretched, palm facing up.

‘Hello,’ he murmurs, and the dog whines low in its throat, like it wants to growl again but can’t find the energy. There weren’t strays in Hanamura, the only pet around the castle being the fat, pampered Akita that belonged to his mother before her marriage to Sojiro and who she insisted come with her.

Despite this, Hanzo takes it as a sign he may approach when the dogs tail thumps weakly, once, on the dusty road. He lays his hand flat on the dog’s head and scritches behind the ears, just as Tsukuyomi had enjoyed. The dog huffs appreciatively and lays his head down, wide eyes peering up at Hanzo almost guilelessly.

Hanzo takes the moment to look over the rest of the dog’s skinny body. Besides the missing leg - which he confirms was a prior injury due to the stump looking fully healed - it seems to be mostly unharmed. There’s a few scratches on his rump that could’ve been from cats or brambles - a deeper cut on one paw that suggests a narrowly-escaped hunter’s trap. It seems to be dehydration that led to his current state, and Hanzo removes his hand from its perch on the dog’s head to unscrew his water bottle. He settles back on his ass, cross legged in front of the dog, and cups his hand under the flow of water. The dog eyes him, ears perking, and Hanzo chuckles and awkwardly offers the shallow pool of water forward.

The dog laps at it greedily, and Hanzo only wishes he could fill both hands rather than just one. He continues to pour the water into his hand as the dog drinks, and he feels abruptly out of his depth. Would too much too fast hurt his belly? Would it be best to let him drink gradually? Hanzo debates pulling his hand away for a moment - but the dog is clearly _thirsty_ , and the thought of depriving him of something so simple as water that he very clearly needs makes Hanzo frown. He keeps the flow of water steady until his water bottle has nothing left to give. The dog looks at it questioningly, then back at Hanzo, who sighs.

“Can you walk?” He asks, feeling silly but also like he really shouldn’t underestimate this animal. The dog proves itself when it dips its head slowly, then rises even slower up onto its haunches. It’s clearly very weak, but he manages to make it to a standing position with minimal fuss, and Hanzo’s chest flares with unexpected pride. He smiles down at the dog, whose tail wags a bit stronger now, and stands up himself.  

He grasps his water bottle in one hand and pats the dog’s head with the other. “Follow me?” he says, and he swears he sees the dog nod again.

* * *

Night has fully fallen by the time they make it back to his apartment, and Hanzo can tell what little strength the dog regained by drinking the water has left him with the long walk. He feels momentarily guilty that he didn’t call a vet first and foremost, though isn’t quite sure what vet would be willing to drive up into the mountains at 7 in the evening on a Wednesday. He resolves to make the call first thing in the morning as he unlocks the door to his apartment and gently ushers the dog inside.

The dog had followed surprisingly well, seemingly inclined to stick to Hanzo’s side for most of the journey. Hanzo is markedly suspicious of a wounded animal being so friendly with him - then again, he hasn’t much experience with dogs. Or any animal, really - that was Genji’s thing, not his. For all this, he has to admit the dog is _cute_ , in a scruffy-and-famished way. His eyes are big and brown, staring up at him as Hanzo retrieves a big bowl from the kitchen and fills it to the brim with water. The dog takes a moment to drink and Hanzo leaves him momentarily, going to strip out of his dust-covered workout clothes and into sweatpants and a t-shirt, saving the shower for later.

When he returns the dog is laying by the water bowl, which is half empty, eyeing it possessively but seemingly aware he should pace himself. Hanzo lets out a snort and moves to the fridge. He isn’t the.. best, at keeping himself fed, so there’s little else but leftover rice from that morning and various beverages - neither of which he thinks the dog will be interested in. It’s not too late to go to the grocery store and buy dog food - but he can’t say how well received it’d be when the dog has clearly not been domesticated for some time.

Hanzo settles on takeout, and when it arrives he feeds scraps of beef to the dog, who lies off to the side of the couch Hanzo’s occupied. He seems to be distancing himself, now, more wary now that he isn’t starving and dehydrated. Hanzo ignores him except for to lob the occasional piece of meat his way, hiding his smirk when he hears the dog scarf them up messily.

When there’s no more food to be had for either of them and the television has ceased to be interesting, Hanzo turns his gaze to the dog with a sigh. The animal looks up at him with.. _eerily_ human eyes, and Hanzo can’t help his frown at the sight, but shakes his head as soon as it appears. There are other things to deal with, he thinks, as he stands up gingerly so not as to startle his guest.

“Look,” Hanzo says, all business. The dog eyes him warily, and Hanzo’s heart momentarily aches for him. “I know you must be suspicious. But I would like to help you more, if I can.” Hanzo feels like a fool after a few seconds of blank stare - but then the dog huffs and stands, seemingly knowing the direction Hanzo is taking and ambling off down the hall.

Hanzo blinks, watching him go, then swipes his phone up from where its lying on the armrest and types out a quick message to Genji.

**Sent to: Genji**

**10:19 P.M.**

_I found a dog._

His phone buzzes not a minute later with the response.

**Received From: Genji**

**10:20 P.M.**

_really?? is it cute? send me a photo right now!!!!!_

Hanzo rolls his eyes and pockets his phone, follows the dog down the hall to the bathroom. When he reaches it he flicks on the lights immediately so as not to trip over him, and is greeted with the sight of the dog already in the tub, head resting against the side with those eyes peering up at him as he approaches.

Hanzo mimics his gesture from before - hands up, palms out, and proceeds when he meets no dissent. However, when he moves to open the medicine cabinet the dog growls, and he retracts his hands slowly.

“I need to reach the supplies,” he explains, and wonders what the dog could be afraid of him doing. He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket but he ignores it in favor of leveling his gaze on the dog again, whose ears have gone up. He’s not growling anymore but he’s still wearing a warning look, and Hanzo sighs.

“I am going to try and open it again,” he says, announcing his intentions to calm both himself and the dog. His eyes narrow but he huffs his assent and returns his head to its spot on the side of the tub. Hanzo opens the medical cabinet and rifles through to find what he needs - gauze, antibiotic cream, a cup for water. He wants to attempt to stitch up the wound on the dog’s back paw, but isn’t quite sure how the tough padding animals have works the same as human skin - is sure that it doesn’t, and doesn’t want to risk the tentative companionship they’ve built thus far. Instead, he settles for cleaning it and the shallower wounds and hope it can be enough.

Hanzo fills the cup, approaches the bathtub like a worshipper approaching a shrine with offerings in hand and gestures to open space next to the dog. “It would be easiest if I got in with you,” he says. The dog flicks his eyes between Hanzo’s face and his arms and, appeased by whatever he sees, curls up just enough to allow Hanzo more room. He sheds his sweatpants and shirt so he’s clad only in boxers, clambers into the tub next to the dog and sets everything on the side of the tub, balancing precariously. When he returns his gaze to the animal his eyes are wide like before, staring right at Hanzo with his ears perked up. 

“What?” He says, and the dog seems to snap out of it, huffing almost abashedly. Hanzo shakes his head and reaches for the the shampoo in its holder next to him. The dog watches his movements but doesn’t attempt to stop him as Hanzo pours the soap into the lukewarm water, then dipping his fingers in to swirl it around. He does get a scandalized look when he goes to pour it over the dog’s dirty body, but only deigns to give the response an eyeroll.

For all his hot-and-cold behavior thus far the dog takes the bath surprisingly well. Hanzo refills the cup with water from the tap in the tub countless times, scrubbing away the accumulated dirt and dust and dried blood. He takes care to go softer over the cuts, and the back paw he saves till the very last.

Once the dog is washed up and his smaller wounds look a little less at risk for infection, Hanzo turns his attention to the gash on his paw. It hadn’t seemed to bother the dog while he was walking any more than the utter exhaustion had, but Hanzo still works the antibiotic cream around it and ties it with a gauze to be safe.

By the time he’s completely finished and is returning the supplies to the cabinet the dog looks utterly worn out, on the verge of sleep in the tub. Hanzo clucks his tongue once, gently, to get his attention, then holds out a towel for him in an imploring manner. The dog grumbles but manages to step out of the tub, albeit clumsily, and into Hanzo’s waiting arms, once more seemingly lacking the energy to be suspicious. Hanzo dries him off gently but firmly, making sure his paws and ears don’t drip, then deposits the towel on the bathroom floor when he’s done. He gathers up his discarded clothes, motions the dog to follow him and clicks the light of the bathroom off as he leaves.

Hanzo leads him across the hall, to his bedroom. “You can sleep anywhere,” he says, but after a moment of thought adds “except for on my bed. That is off-limits to mangy mutts.” The dog _boofs_ , once, turns in a circle three times, and collapses in a heap next to Hanzo’s side table. He chuckles as he strips his wet boxers off and replaces the sweatpants and shirt from before. He goes to check the time and sees the text message from Genji he’d ignored earlier.

**Received from: Genji**

**10:22 P.M.**

_are you gonna keep it? can i be the uncle??_  

Hanzo smirks, sees another text under it and clicks on it too.

**Received from: Genji**

**10:35 P.M.**

_a dog would be good for you, hanzo_

He sighs, thumbs the phone off and sets it on his bedside table as he climbs into bed. He can’t dispute that.


	2. Chapter 2

Genji and Hanzo stand in the kitchen, watching the dog devour the chicken Genji had smuggled with him from his work. They’d found out quickly that dog food would not be tolerated.

“What are you going to do with him?” Genji asks the question like he already knows the answer, and Hanzo sighs.

“Take him to the shelter, maybe? I honestly don’t know.” That morning had seen Hanzo struggling to throw the warm weight of the dog off from where he laid across his feet despite the no-bed rule. He clearly hadn’t reverted back into wariness yet; had warmed up to Genji remarkably fast, though the chicken was probably a deciding factor. The more Hanzo considered it the more dropping the dog off at an impersonal, overcrowded shelter seemed wrong; but he’s never been comfortable with the idea of so much _responsibility_. Taking care of a life that was wholly dependent upon him - well. He’d already almost failed at that, once.

Genji fixes him with a look. “You should keep him.” Hanzo shakes his head before he’s even finished.

“I can’t afford it. And even if I could, I doubt I would be good at it.” Genji snorts.

“There’s no such thing as being _good_ at taking care of a dog, anija. You just _do_ it.” Hanzo ignores him, refocusing his gaze on the dog in his kitchen. He’d finished with his meal and seems content to lay and watch the brothers converse, though he clearly doesn’t understand Japanese. This comes as somewhat of a relief; at least Hanzo knows now he hasn’t been imagining the dog’s responses to his words. Every time it happened he felt like he needed to revise his initial opinion that the dog had never been domesticated.

“I have to take him to the vet today,” Hanzo says in lieu of a proper response, switching back to English. The dog looks up sharply at his words. “The wound on his paw could be infected.” Genji coos at the dog where he’s sitting up, now, on the kitchen floor, ears laid back against his head.

“I don’t think he likes the sound of that, _anija,_ ” Genji says as he crouches down to the dog’s level. He holds out a palm and the dog leans forward, sniffs it warily, then nuzzles into it to grant permission. Genji turns to Hanzo with a comically large smile on his face and pets the dog on the head gently, scritching behind his ears. Hanzo sighs.

“What’s his name?” Genji returns his gaze to the dog, making _aww_ sounds at the way he pushes into the touch. Hanzo blinks.

“What?”

He can _hear_ Genji rolling his eyes. “His _name_ , brother. You cannot keep calling him ‘dog’.” The animal in question blinks his eyes open lazily, meets Hanzo’s gaze as if daring him to name him something ridiculous.

“Why would I give a name a dog that I do not intend to keep?” Hanzo fires back, not breaking eye contact with the dog. He huffs, once, and closes his own eyes once more as Genji rubs at a particularly good spot behind his left ear. Hanzo feels a brief surge of victory pride at the sight - then realizes he’s revelling in beating a _dog_ at a game of wills.   
Genji scoffs. “Stop pretending you will not grow attached, _anija_. You are not a very good actor.”

* * *

The vet, bless her soul, gives Hanzo the all-clear on the dog’s paw. Not infected, just raw, and a few days’ rest paired with low-strength antibiotics is recommended.

And the thing is - he does call the shelter, he _does_ , but they’re full because of the increasingly numerous strays due to the weather warming up and mother pups clearing out her winter dens, and next closest one is a forty-five minute drive from Hanzo’s apartment. Additionally - the vet had specifically said _rest_ , and the thought of leaving the dog in a place that is undoubtedly overcrowded and less than sanitary when he’s already wounded feels _wrong_ , somehow.

He calls around, feeling increasingly desperate the more time goes by, but also increasingly like a total asshole every time he thinks about handing him off to a stranger. Amèlie says her friend is interested, that he’s been looking for a dog matching the description Hanzo gave her, but that he’s away and won’t be back for a couple of weeks yet.

“And if it’s not the dog he’s looking for? What then, Hanzo?” Genji asks over the phone. Hanzo can hear his smirk.

“I’ll-” Hanzo frowns. “Why don’t you just take him? I am sure he would be happier with you and Angela.” He glances to the dog where he’s sprawled out under Hanzo’s coffee table, both of Hanzo’s feet propped up on his stomach. One eye blinks open lazily when he catches Hanzo staring and his tail thumps against the floor a few times in response.

“You could even name him,” Hanzo continues, not taking his eyes off the dog. There’s.. _something_ about him, his uncanny intelligence. If there was someone looking for him then Hanzo had to be wrong about his assumption that he was completely wild - perhaps Amèlie’s friend was a dog trainer, someone who specializes in vocal commands and who had worked with or even owned him-

 _“Butaniku._ ” Hanzo snorted indignantly.

“I am _not_ naming him that.” Genji cackled on the other line and the dog looked up, head cocked.

“He wants me to call you _pork._ ” The dog huffed, a sign Hanzo was coming to recognize as a sign of exasperated amusement, then flopped back down.

“Relax, _anija_ , he probably has a name already. It’s not like you’ll be keeping him, right?” Hanzo looks down at the dog and sighs.

“Are you okay with this?” He stage whispers, and the dog’s tail thumps again.

“Wait - are you actually _talking_ to him?” Genji practically squeals the question, voice full of poorly disguised laughter. Hanzo hangs up.

* * *

 They’re on a walk through town, Hanzo with a bag of rotisserie chicken in one hand and his own food in the other. Since the visit to the vet had costed less than he expected he had just enough money set aside to be able to treat Pork like a king (Genji did have a point - he _couldn’t_ keep calling the dog Dog forever), though money was rather tight lately. Luckily he hadn’t needed to worry about missing work incase Pork needed out - he leaves with Hanzo in the morning, goes his own way when they reach Hanzo’s car and is always back in the evening. Hanzo has no clue what he does all day, but he seems to be able to avoid Animal Control well enough.

Pork trots next to him despite being on a leash, something Hanzo had considered for a bare second before forgetting it altogether. It seems _insulting_ , somehow - he can tell Pork’s independence is important to him. In his mouth he carries his own bag, one containing evidence of Hanzo’s deepest secret - an awful sweet tooth, for _Botan_ especially. Pork gave him a judgemental look when he put the boxes in their basket and Hanzo had pretended to ignore him. Out of the two of them, people had always assumed Genji was the one with the sweet tooth, all that hyperactive energy having to come from somewhere. In fact, Genji had never even liked sweets - he said they made him feel ill. Hanzo instead had been the one forced to smuggle honey into his room because the Castle’s servants did not deviate from the bitter _sencha_ they made.

It looks like rain tonight, and while Pork is content to play in puddles until the end of time Hanzo can’t stand getting wet. They’ve made a compromise - when it rains during the week they go on a run. If it’s a weekend, they stay in. Today is Saturday (only four days before Amèlie’s friend returns; Hanzo has to shove down a pang of disappointment at the thought) and he revels in the warmth of his apartment when they make it back just before the first few heavy, fat drops fall from the sky. Pork shakes as soon as he’s inside despite barely having gotten wet, and Hanzo sheds his sweater and shoes by the door. He moves to open the window in the living room - he does greatly enjoy the smell of rain, even if he doesn’t like being caught in it - and puts the kettle to boil. Hanzo collapses onto the couch and pats the seat next to him in invitation. He’d put a blanket down the second day Pork had been with him, both for Pork’s comfort and to prevent claw marks on the already-ratty couch, and he seems to have taken a liking to it, dragging it around with him whenever he wanted to lounge in another part of the apartment.

(Hanzo always had to move it back to the couch, but he found he didn’t really mind.)

Pork falls asleep quickly, his gold-and-black coat rising and falling gently with each breath. Hanzo reaches over, gives him a scritch behind twitching ears, pats him on the head and stealthily moves off of the couch.

The dog’s omnipresence is comforting in some ways and an absolute inconvenience in others - he hadn’t _done anything_ for himself in a week, only adding to his depressingly long dry spell, and he sighs in relief when the door is shut firmly behind him and he can get a hand on his dick.

Hanzo sheds his pants and shirt embarrassingly eagerly, lays in bed and arches his back and is fully hard in thirty seconds flat. It’s been.. so long, and he bites back a whine that threatens to escape when he thumbs the head, reaches his other hand down to circle his hole. The side table is rifled in momentarily, hand emerging victorious with a bottle of lube, and he slicks up his fingers hurriedly. The first one goes inside easy, filling him up but just _barely_ \- the second is better, catches on his prostate and makes him _keen_.

Unbidden, thoughts of the bartender at Amèlie’s favorite restaurant come to mind. Hanzo sees him often due to Amèlie’s insistence on dragging him there every time it’s her turn to choose, and every time he does he is struck still by the surge of _want_ that goes through him. He’s tall, taller than Hanzo and only _just_ taller than Amèlie, absolutely _covered_ in hair, and his _arms -_

He checked on the regulars often. Hanzo has been _up close and personal_ with his clothed dick, unfairly thick and probably long, too, even when it was soft. Not to mention his goddamned voice, silky smooth and so out of place here - Hanzo can’t help but imagine what he’d sound like overexerted, turned on, _wrecked_.

He’s working three fingers into himself, stripping his dick with the other hand and he’s so _close_ , fuck -

There’s a scratch at the door.

Hanzo startles, and the movement pushes his fingers deeper. He groans, _loudly_ , and then there’s a wet snout nosing its way along the crack at the bottom of the door. There is _no way_ the dog knows what he’s doing - yet he feels mortified anyway, like his roomate’s just walked in on him or something.

“I am fine!” He shouts in the direction of the door, gingerly pulling his fingers out of himself, _fuck_. “Go back to sleep!” The snout stops pushing but does not retract, and there’s a confused whine from the other side of the door. Hanzo resists his own urge to sigh as he dons a pair of boxers, runs his (mostly) unsoiled hand through his hair and pulls the door open.

Pork is sitting in front of it, brown eyes gazing guiltily up at him. The look is knowing enough to make Hanzo flush from his chest all the way down to his - barely flagging - dick.

“We won’t speak of this,” he says, looking at Pork’s ear, his tail - anywhere but those damn eyes. Pork’s tail thumps, once, and he makes his retreat down the hallway. Hanzo sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hanzo is a chronic sigher


End file.
